


To Catch You—

by faedemon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Free-falling, Gen, Hogwarts Third Year, Mental Health Issues, Mentor Severus Snape, POV Severus Snape, Quidditch, Self-Destructive Behavior, Suicidal Ideation, but is it so much to ask to want him to look past the ghost of james?, harry: (is pitiful), minerva: look after him wont you severus?, snape is still snape. he's going to be in character, snape: god fucking damn it. ok here we go, snape: id rather die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24288454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faedemon/pseuds/faedemon
Summary: —if I must.Severus Snape decidedly does not care about the Potter spawn. But he cannot stand by and watch as the boy just barely avoids causing a fatal accident in his classroom, nor can he just allow Lily's son to kill himself on the quidditch pitch. He doesn't have to care about Harry Potter to keep him from his own self-destruction. It's in his own self-interest. It's to appease the oath he swore to protect the boy, that's all.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape
Comments: 25
Kudos: 84





	To Catch You—

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is cross-posted on FFN under the username faedemonn, and can be found [here](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13590601/1/To-Catch-You).

It is Oliver Wood who notices it first, though “notices” is perhaps the wrong adjective. Severus overhears Wood relating the events of that morning’s practice to another seventh year during his class, and, despite his own vehement avoidance of anything Harry Potter-related, he cannot help but listen in when he hears the boy’s name.

“Scared the piss out of all of us when we showed up for practice,” Wood is saying as he crushes slag beetle shells in his mortar. His partner, Percy Weasley, whom Severus will grudgingly admit is not an utter disappointment in class, listens raptly as he dices juniper berries. “He showed up early, which is rare for him, but he didn’t sit around and wait. When we got to the pitch, he was already on his broom, and he was crazy high up.”

“How high?” Weasley asks, as aware as Severus is that—for as avid a Quidditch player as Wood is—“high up” would be quite high indeed. To Wood, the inquiry probably sounds casual, but Severus can see the tension that runs from Weasley’s shoulders to his hands. A berry splatters juice across the table when he presses down just too hard.

“High enough we were worried. I was just about to yell at him to come down when he just… fell off his broom.”

At that, Weasley’s quick, stiff slicing halts for a moment, his eyes widening. “Fell? Harry’s never fallen without being sabotaged, though,” he says, looking up to meet Wood’s gaze.

“It was intentional, I think,” Wood clarifies, lowering his voice enough that Severus has to stall in scratching marks on a first-year essay in order to hear. “It was less like he fell and more like he let go.”

From the corner of his eye, Severus watches the tension in Weasley’s body heighten. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah, Potter’s fine. By the time any of us even tried to react, he’d _Acciod_ his broom down to him and flew over to us,” Wood says with a nonchalant air that doesn’t match the concern he’d just been etched with, or the alarm that keeps Percy Weasley held stiff even still. “It was bloody impressive, no matter how scary.”

“I’m certain,” Weasley replies, though the words are oddly distant. He returns to dicing berries, expression troubled. Severus has come to expect a certain standard of work from Weasley, and often Wood, as they pair together regularly, but at the end of the class, the distracted conversation proves to cost them. The Draught of Peace they’d been assigned as review from their OWLs is not the turquoise it should be, but a rather sickly-looking mint green.

Severus raises a judgmental brow at Weasley as he sets the vial down on Severus’ desk, but the oft-feared—at least by the younger students—expression isn’t even acknowledged. Instead, Severus hears Weasley muttering to himself, his eyes downcast. He catches, “ _Must speak with Ronald…_ ” before the boy walks away.

Weasley’s concern is intriguing to Severus. The way Wood had described it makes Severus certain that Potter was merely showing off, and had arrived to practice early as a subtle snub to the other players. It’s something he would do, after all, and certainly something his father had done many times in his stint as a Chaser. Not that Severus watched, of course—it was simply rather impossible to avoid noticing James Potter’s posturing when attending the Slytherin-Gryffindor matches.

As such, when the next wave of miserable students flows into his classroom, Severus promptly forgets about Wood and Weasley’s conversation entirely.

Next to notice is Minerva, whom Severus catches having a concerned, whispered conversation with Poppy after a staff meeting one Saturday afternoon. Her brows are drawn, her posture tense, and the expression on Poppy’s face as she relates whatever it is she has to tell is close to grief.

Severus finds himself drifting closer, listening in, without consciously wanting to. What a surprise it is to hear Harry Potter’s name—and that is to say, it is not a surprise at all.

“…worried about him. Wouldn’t you be?” Minerva is saying, her hands clasped together, one thumb worrying away at her other palm. Severus sits in an armchair nearby, pulling out some scrolls—student essays—so as to avoid suspicion of eavesdropping. It’s not uncommon for anyone to do grading in the staff lounge, and though it’s a touch less often that Severus will deign to do so, it’s not few and far enough in between for anyone to call him on it.

“I—yes, I would be. Have you spoken with him?” Poppy’s asking.

“No.” Minerva purses her lips. “He… In the past, he has been reluctant to confide in adults. I expect the muggles he lives with do not endear him to trust.” She sighs. “I dearly hope I am mistaken.”

“It’s never anything less than complicated with Harry Potter, I’m afraid,” Poppy says in response, to which Minerva chuckles, though without humor. “Talk to him, Minerva. If nothing else, at least tell him to stop jumping from his broom. Threaten to take away points or assign detentions, as long as you can get him to _stop_.”

“I fear that punishing him will only make it worse,” Minerva says, her voice faint, and glancing at them reveals her brows to have drawn even further together. “I will try. Thank you, Poppy.”

“Of course.”

Severus truly had forgotten about the conversation he’d overheard among his seventh-years, but Poppy’s blatant description of the issue recalls it for him. As Minerva and Poppy both leave the room, he ponders it for a moment—that even his colleagues are concerned about Harry Potter’s behavior. The boy’s gotten himself into trouble every single year he’s been here, what with the Stone and, after that, the Basilisk and the young Weasley’s unfortunate possession. With Sirius Black reportedly on the prowl, and Black’s despicable wolf in Hogwarts itself, Potter is sure to get himself into the thick of it once again. This… behavior, if it is even as severe as his colleagues implied it to be, is likely a mere precursor to the mischief he’s bound to delve into.

Severus finishes up with his grading about a half-hour later, and exits the staff lounge leisurely, intending to make thorough use of his free time to take the long way down to the dungeons and stretch his legs. If he encounters any misbehaving students on the way, all the more pleasure to dock them points.

Regrettably, the long way takes him by Minerva’s office, and he’s just approaching the door when out from it bursts none other than Potter himself, his features distorted with that characteristic egotistical rage. Severus is near enough to him that, when Potter turns to stalk down the corridor, he smacks into Severus’ side and is cast temporarily off-course.

Severus raises a condescending brow as Potter finally looks up and sees him. He expects, not without reason, for the boy to immediately lash out at him. It is to his immense surprise, then, when Potter merely acknowledges him with a tight, “ _Professor,_ ” and continues on, his fists clenched, his pace too quick to maintain. Severus is startled enough that he fails even to take points from Gryffindor for Potter having gall enough to neglect to apologize.

He watches the boy go, taking note of how he seems to almost tremble. With rage, Severus is certain. He turns around, intending to continue on, and is stopped when he meets Minerva’s gaze, who stands in the threshold of her office, having watched with regret as Potter left.

“You heard me speaking with Poppy,” she says. It is not a question.

“Yes,” he agrees.

“Do keep an eye on him, if you can. I know you and he don’t have the best relationship, but please indulge me in this. Your class is arguably the most dangerous in the school. I don’t want him to…” she trails off.

“What? Hurt himself?” Severus asks, his voice dripping with derision. “Please. My every waking moment in that room is devoted to avoiding that inevitable occurrence. I do my best.”

“Yes, I know that, Severus.” Minerva sighs. “I meant that he might do so _intentionally_. Just be sure to watch him. Please.” Something in her tone stops the next scathing comment that he’d readied. He searches her gaze, just for a moment.

“Far be it from me to allow the savior of the wizarding world to off himself in a third-year potions class,” he says. It is an acquiescence, if not an explicit one. Minerva relaxes just so all the same.

“Thank you, Severus. Excuse me.” She ducks back into her office, shutting the door behind her.

She is _truly_ concerned for Potter, and that, if nothing else, sets Severus on edge. Despite everything, Minerva McGonagall is one of the most practical people he knows, and she does not stoop herself to worry where worry isn’t necessary. She may be regarded as a stand-in mother by plenty of the younger Gryffindors, but she does not fret like a real mother would. For her to gaze after Potter’s retreating back with such a solemn expression is troubling, indeed.

As it turns out, Potter’s friends do much of the watching for him.

Granger or Weasley always make sure one of them is his partner, though they switch out often enough Severus swears they’re trying to make it seem innocuous. Thinking back, he is quite sure they’d partner with each other sometimes, leaving Potter to find a straggler instead. Now, they never leave the boy by himself. Judging by the frustrated glances he occasionally sends their way, the habit hasn’t escaped his notice.

Potter has never been a talent at potion brewing—a waste of Lily’s genes—but he hasn’t been abhorrent, either. When he partners with Granger, their results are generally imperfect but acceptable, largely due to Granger’s studious talent. His results when partnered with Weasley, however, take Severus’ attention.

They are utterly reprehensible. Weasley isn’t _good_ at brewing, but he usually gets close—it’s simply that he does not have the intuition necessary, and which Granger has, to fix all the mistakes Potter is making. And, now that Severus is watching, he sees just how _many_ mistakes Potter is making. It’s almost cause for alarm.

The boy is downright careless; he doesn’t pay attention to his cutting technique with any of the ingredients, and tosses them in without a care in the world when it comes time to add them—and often before that time has come, or after it’s passed. He just—he doesn’t pay _attention_ , despite how clear Severus has made it that even a single misstep in this class could become fatal.

“Mister Potter,” he says, coming up behind Potter and Weasley’s station after one particularly dangerous move—Potter had tossed an ingredient in from at least a foot away, as if he were shooting a Muggle basket.

“Professor,” he acknowledges flippantly, not even turning around. Weasley, in contrast, twists in his seat, casting worried looks at Potter.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Severus says, his voice as dangerous as he can make it.

“Brewing the potion, sir,” he says in the same flat, listless tone of voice. A small hint of defiance is audible, but it’s so small that the alarm Severus had neglected to feel earlier flares in him now. What could be affecting the boy so that he can’t even summon the motivation to be rude?

“Are you really?” Severus waves, and the flame beneath their shared cauldron extinguishes. “It looked more to me like you were practicing your aim.” He vanishes the potion in one smooth motion. “Ten points from Gryffindor, for your carelessness.”

“Sir—” Weasley says in an attempt to interject, but shuts up when Severus’ gaze slides to him.

“You will both receive a zero for the day. Be glad you aren’t receiving detention for your lack of caution.” He sweeps away and up the aisle of desks, glancing to the sides and watching with muted pleasure as his students’ gazes dart away from his, one by one. At the top of the classroom, just before his desk, he turns around to survey the room, letting his gaze alight on Potter’s table last.

Most of the classroom is studiously minding their own business, though some of his Slytherins are snickering, casting glances back at Potter. He shall have to speak to them about propriety. Granger is, predictably, casting worried glances back at her compatriots. He’ll walk by her in a moment to ensure her attention is suitably on her brew. Weasley is watching Potter entirely unsubtly from the corner of his eye, and Potter himself…

It’s almost startling, looking at him, because in that moment he looks so far from James it’s jarring. His shoulders are slumped, his hair is limp, and his head rests on a palm while his fingers dig into his cheek. He’s staring dully down at his desk, gaze unseeing, his free hand picking at the corner of his textbook. Everything about him is shrouded in the same severe, pervasive listlessness.

Severus has had plenty of practice schooling his expressions, and doesn’t outwardly react, but he cannot stop himself from being internally taken aback. He’s become used to regarding Potter as being of anger. Indeed, having shed the precocious, childish mannerisms of eleven and twelve, he’d become distinctly more standoffish and temperamental; he was characterized by defiance.

Now, it’s almost like there’s nothing. Blank, transparent emptiness.

Severus avoids looking at him for the rest of class.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't have a strict plan for how this is going to go, so it might be a while before a new chapter. thank you for reading anyway, and please leave a comment if you like where this is heading!


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